Ex Animo
by aldkhfa142
Summary: For eleven years he's been in his father's shadow. But eventually Gohan must come into his own...


A/N: _My good frien__d Astrozazel and I were_ _musing over when Gohan threw off that oh-so-famous father complex. So, here's my crack at it. Just a short little one-shot, set at the tail end of the Bojack movie. If you haven't seen it, there's plenty of summaries floating around. I used the Japanese dialogue, since it fit better. _

_"Ex Animo" is Latin for "From the Mind."_

Disclaimers: _Me no own._

* * *

"Ex Animo"

* * *

"_'Cause I threw you the obvious  
To see what occurs behind the  
Eyes of a fallen angel  
Eyes of a tragedy  
Oh well. Oh well…  
Apparently nothing.  
Apparently nothing at all._"  
--"3 Libras," A Perfect Circle

Pulverized rock and the faint sheen of life's energy are dissipating into the atmosphere. The air reeks of burnt skin, shattered bone. Through the grim curtain of dust I am first to see my opponent. At first he is delighted and certain of victory; but then those eyes (_they're blue, _I think, _but for a moment were they purple? No, that was another time – another murderer_) widen in recognition only to immediately narrow. He is disgusted, furious. A wordless roar escapes his vast chest.

Did I envy you this?

Standing amongst the ruins, the pain is forgotten now in sheer fatigue. I feel as though I have died and most sensation has already left me for the Afterlife. Is this what it is to stand with one foot in the grave? I watch with a soldier's stoicism as each exhalation leaves me further removed from the living world. I am immortal in my strength: exuding a godly light, a deluge of chi which pours into the sky. Clouds broil, the earth unable to contain my energy; the air is rent with the report of thunder as the sky attempts to cleanse itself of my power.

I am immortal.

But it is agony. Each muscle strained. Every resource exhausted. My lungs burn for oxygen even when filled. The mere restlessness of the Legendary form has been multiplied a thousand times over to a writhing anguish. This is not a power any mortal should hold; even though it came from within me, even though this power _is_ me, I should not possess it. It kills me with each passing moment.

Did I envy you this power?

I am the strongest there is. And yet I still cannot protect anyone, save anyone; I am still left standing alone with only the memories of those fallen. I stand unblinking and so very alone as this terrible being stares me down, sentience lost in sheer brutality. This Bojack had killed that girl (I never even knew her name) without so much as a thought. It was _strategy._ A life disposed with the flick of a wrist, just for a meager attempt to wound me. Some would argue her life wasn't worth much; but even in her psychosis, those eyes pleaded with me (_what could I do?_) as her existence ceased.

I cannot protect anyone. They all look to me for guidance, now; but I am the strongest, not the wisest. I am the strongest but still the youngest. As they have told me for so long: I am my father's son. _But I am only my father's son._

Did I envy you this responsibility?

All these lives are depending on me, _just me, _as I stand here. I stand immortal, but exhausted; the strongest, but the youngest. I am only my father's son.

"Dammit," the hulking alien cries. He cannot understand why a child is still standing. He cannot comprehend that his crude strength isn't enough for this tiny creature before him. Aren't they all the same? Each one, psychotic and egotistical; they can never understand.

(_finish him off! do it now!_)

(_it deserves to suffer more_)

I understand. I understand too well.

The demon charges me. He is a creature of savagery shrouded in rage. Every child's nightmare, this leviathan, descending upon me with naught but murderous intent. I have seen this all before, and it makes me all the more tired…

Did I envy you this life?

No. No no _no._

I wanted none of this. I never wanted any of this. Not the pain, the fear; not that itching restlessness; not the pleading eyes of my enemy seconds before death. _I wanted none of this. _

So why do I want to be you…?

You saved me. Dead, you saved me. Plucked me from thin air and made your attempt at words of encouragement. _Why now?_ Why, when while living you were not up to the task?

You didn't save me. You were alive, and you didn't save me.

(_It was an acceptable risk, _knowledge whispers.)

_But you didn't save me._

The monster grows near, and unbidden my body moves to protect itself. It is a soldier's body; it knows its duty.

It has always been _me._ Why did _I_ do this? Why did _I_ bring this upon myself?

Even now, I am thinking: why am I being punished this way?

_Because you were not fast enough  
Because you were not strong enough  
Because you were not fast enough_  
Because you were never enough.

_Because of this _your father is dead. _And you must _become_ him!_

It is nauseating how easily my fist connects with his unguarded stomach. His outstretched fist doesn't even graze me; it is a simple one-two, I side-step just enough to avoid his graceless assault and my arm stretches out to meet the skin just above his navel. To meet, and go through. With sickening ease flesh rips aside. Gouts of blood are astonished to meet the air; my skin is too horrified to recognize the sensation of tearing _through._

I watch on with that same impassive facade.

_Is this what I want to be?_

We disconnect as one; I step away, barely containing the urge to convulsively shudder, as he retreats with a trembling hand holding his guts in. If his anatomy is vaguely human-like, that is. I am disinclined to pursue that matter any further.

_Is this all I want to be?_

His blood seeps down my arm in rivers, a flood of death. Is it a mortal blow? Have I killed this creature? And who am I to deliver such a sentence? _Who am I?_

This calm charade is slipping into panic.

"D-Dammit…" chokes Bojack. But even now, as his blood splatters across the broken terrain, defeat does not dim his determined expression.

Is this what I want to be?

_This?_

You told me to show them my true power

(_that terrible power_)

You told me to "Do it now!"

(_but that power, intoxicating whispers in my ear even now—shouldn't they suffer, suffer as we have suffered, don't you _see)

And then you died.

…Why did I do this?

Why did I do this to me?

He is dying and he fails to see it. Twin lights, the last of his energy, poured into a final desperate assault. The (_toy_) soldier is watching on.

Why did _you. _

Why didn't _you _come back?

My chest, ever-questing for oxygen and life and breath, hitches.

…I don't want to be you.

(_fighting, gone, dead, alive, but always fighting, and Mom is always standing at the window… waiting…waiting.)_

I don't want to be empty.

(_standing on the sidelines. acceptable risks. everything is an acceptable risk.)_

I don't want to be empty.

Non-human.

Saiyan.

_YOU._

Fury, even as his life splatters across the dirt. Fury and indignation. "How could a kid like you do this to me…?" The words go unheard.

I… will… not… be… _you._

"And then… and then…" the words slip unbidden past my lips, even as my hands move in the automatic gestures, that sequence of stances engrained in my soul. "He told me to stop acting like some pampered _baby!_" The last of my energy siphoned into your signature attack, Father. May it be the last.

All my life I have been reaching for that impossible goal. Now it has been reached, and it is bittersweet.

I will finish this.

I will wash away the blood, the sweat, the grime. I will wash this sin away and reveal the person beneath - the _human._

I will be new.

And I will be more than my father's son.

* * *

_Finis_

* * *


End file.
